Isabella reluctantly disposed her worsteds and rose. "I wish John Rowe were far enough!" she said, as she left the room. "Dear, dear, child!" murmured Madam Passmore, looking doubtfully after her daughter. "She is very like my step-mother," said Celia, quietly. "She reminds me of her many a time." "Now then!" said Isabella, triumphantly re-entering. "I have sent him away, and told him he must not come teasing when I am busy. When I had just found the right shade of red! Look at this bracelet he has given me--pretty, is it not? He has promised all I asked, and to give me a black footman as well. I shall not repent marrying him, I can see." "Is that happiness, my dear Isabella?" "Happiness!" replied Bell, stopping in her business of transferring the wools from Celia's apron to her own. "Of course! Why, there are not above half a dozen families in the country that have black servants! I wonder at your asking such a question, Celia." "I say, Bell," queried Charley, just before taking himself and Virgil out of the room, "I wonder which of you two is going to say the 'obey' in the service?" "That boy's impertinence really gets insufferable," placidly observed Isabella, seating herself at the frame. "Now to finish my parrot's tail." The wedding of John Rowe and Isabella Passmore was celebrated in the following spring. Thanks to the bride's taste and orders, the bridegroom's attire was faultless. The black footman proved so excessively black, and rolled the whites of his eyes to such an extent, that Lucy declared she could not believe that he was no more than an ordinary man. At the end of the summer, the absentees returned to Marcombe, and Isabella came over to Ashcliffe in her carriage, attended by her black Ganymede, in order to impress her relatives duly with a sense of her importance: herself attired in a yellow silk brocade almost as stiff as cardboard, with an embroidered black silk slip, and gold ornaments in her powdered hair. And once more Celia was vividly reminded of Lady Ingram. "I am going to have the black baptized," the young lady languidly remarked. "I shall call him"-- "Othello," suggested Charley. "Cassibelaunus--O Bell! do call him Cassibelaunus!" "Nonsense, Lucy. I shall call him Nero." "Then he is a Christian, my dear?" asked her mother. "I don't think he knows anything about it," replied his mistress, with a short laugh. "But you know 'tis scarce decent to be attended by an unbaptized black; and he will be a Christian when 'tis done." "I am not so sure of that, Bell," said Madam Passmore, quietly. It was the first time that Madam Passmore had been known to express any individual opinion upon religious subjects. "All baptized people are Christians," answered Mrs. John Rowe, a little more sharply than was respectful.